


Clouds

by asleepmostofthetime



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, this is my first fic please be nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asleepmostofthetime/pseuds/asleepmostofthetime
Summary: crisp air is laced with memoriesleaves are falling from the treesmaybe it was meant to bemaybe it was not
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Clouds

**Author's Note:**

> hello this is my first fanfic i wrote ever so i don't know how to do anything lmao  
> hope you enjoy :]

It feels something like when you sigh during autumn and for the first time in months you can see the clouds of air that pass your lips. Like a child you keep blowing and smiling and running around, pretending to be a dragon. How do you remember what it’s like to be a child?

It's winter as Wilbur watches. His world collapses before his eyes, buildings groaning under the weight of someone who is not meant to rule them. This man is wrong. He is a crooked puzzle piece that does not fit Wilbur’s country.  He does not fit Wilbur’s narrative. Those who thirst for power like they thirst for water should not have control over a place that thirsts for peace.

What was once a desperate need to reclaim what belonged to him became muddled sometime between his fall from grace and his fall from life. The murky puddles he walked through in his makeshift kingdom reflected equally murky eyes. Unbeknownst to those around him, there was a storm brewing. The kind of storm that marks the arrival of winter after an autumn full of flaming trees (and clouds of breath). 

It was winter and Wilbur’s hatred poured out, the little crevice quickly flooded. Walls that once felt like escape, like safety, began to suffocate its occupants. Unable to breathe, Tommy clawed, fingers bleeding, for anyone who was willing to pull his broken brother out of the grave he had dug for himself. But those who write their own unhappy endings are never willing to change them. Unfortunately, Tommy is but a child. And children like Tommy learn things far too late. 

Shaking was all Wilbur could feel that day of spring. Vibrations rocking his body, his skull. The earth inhaled in anticipation. Rocky lungs expanding in an explosion. The gray backdrop of Wilbur’s end swiftly went through shades of orange red and yellow as blinding and deadly as the sun. You’d think the boy was laying on a pile of leaves, laughing as he waved his arms about. A cloud of breath emerging from his open mouth. But behind Wilbur was death taking the form of an eruption, and the cloud of breath was only dust that fell from the ceiling. Phil would never realize this, his mind wouldn’t let him believe the sight and replaced it with a fading image of Wilbur as a boy, playing in the leaves like he used to.  _ My son has returned. _

__ So when Wilbur unsheathed a sword and handed it to him, Phil did not do anything with it.

“Kill me Phil.”

Blinking, Phil looked out on the ruins of a once grand country and saw a broken picture frame instead.  _ My son.  _ After all, accidents happen, children make mistakes. It could be put back together. Phil didn’t know why Wilbur wanted him to be angry at him. He could never be mad at his precious boy. 

Phil took a step towards his son and enveloped him in a hug. Wilbur did not move, he let Phil hold him. Together they sank to the floor. It would all be okay. They could fix the picture frame. _Everything will be alright._ But fate is cruel. _I’m not mad at you Wil._ It riddles life with touches of terror. _I love you, my son._ It curses us with untimely acts of god. Phil felt his shirt grow wet. He went to wipe away the tears that had gathered there only to see red. It was all red, a solid and unforgiving crimson. Dripping from Wilbur’s mouth. The floor was red and the walls were red and everything was red. 

A ghost watches over a ghost town. Months had passed from when something bad happened here (Tubbo would not tell him) and it was fall again. Pillars stand tall in the chilly air. Summer has passed and the earth is remembering what it's like to be frozen. A quiet observer, from the outside looking in, gazed upon the progress that his friends had made. He had to admit that the buildings were quite beautiful, though there weren’t many other places to compare them to. Tubbo and Ranboo set up lanterns around while fundy worked on his house. Phil was at his steps, sitting and looking towards the far border of the country. All was well, all was peaceful. 

Ghostbur couldn’t remember much, but what he did remember he always wrote down. Something he could not recall was Phil’s change in color. He never seemed to wear the red, orange, and yellow robes Ghostbur assumed he once did. The ones gathering dust in his closet. Instead he donned a large evergreen cape over clothes Ghostbur could not see. 

Ghostbur sighed, always weary despite being dead. The space in front of his mouth remained clear. Blinking, Ghostbur exhaled again. The space stayed clear.  _ Where did the clouds go?  _ A strange, detached panic filled him.  _ Am I doing it wrong?  _ He frantically blew and blew, but to no avail.  _ We used to do it all the time when we were kids! _ ...

_ How do you remember what it's like to be a child? _

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! comments very appreciated :) <3


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